Cursed Luck
by Spark of the forgotten
Summary: Summary: "Whoever is in charge of luck hates my guts - a lot. I mean, who else can decide to take a walk in the woods, and then fall into a hole covered by a broken bed frame? Only me, I bet."/OC-centric, takes place post-RotG. Includes Pitch Black! Please R&R. Constructive criticism is encouraged; flames are not. Rated T because Pitch made me paranoid.
1. The Disappearing Hole of Doom

**Summary:** Whoever is in charge of luck hates my guts. A lot. I mean, who else can decide to take a walk in the woods, and then fall into a hole covered by a broken bed frame? Only me, I bet./OC-centric, takes place post-RotG.

It was official: luck was out to get me.

In my fifteen years of being, I could give you many examples, like the time the railing at the zoo gave away and I landed in the lion's den, or the time I somehow managed to reactivate a WWII bomb at the museum, or even the time a stray dog bit my leg and shattered the bone in four different places.

As you can see, I am not the luckiest person in the world. And the jam I'm in proves it.

It all started when the two kids I babysit, Jamie and Sophie, who are also close friends of mine, said I should go outside more instead of "wasting away" in my room. Looking back on it, I don't know why I took this to heart, but I did, and it leads me my current dilemma.

I took a walk in the woods, being mindful to watch where I stepped and where I put my hands; I wouldn't be surprised if the first tree I touched was covered in poison ivy. After a few minutes of walking, I came across a clearing in the woods, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the old, broken, wooden bedframe smack-dab in the middle.

Now, being the curious teen that I am, I went to investigate this strange sight. Looking in every direction for any sign of freak bear attacks or something, I ventured to the bedframe.

From what I could see, the wooden structure was very old, with splinters jutting out of the sides, but that's not what caught my attention. What I noticed was the dark, ominous hole directly underneath the broken boards that would usually hold the mattress. My curiosity got the best of me as I leaned over to get a better look.

Worst. Mistake. Ever.

My best friend, Luck, returned to stab me in the back. I leaned too far and proceeded to trip over air. I could feel fear taking over as I tried in vain to catch my balance. My movements mirrored Alice of Wonderland as I fell down into the darkness.

Which leads us to my current problem.

I'm stuck in a cave with a bunch of cages hanging from the ceiling and a strange globe with twinkling gold lights. This cavern had me in a state of awe, but that passed quickly as confusion took its place.

Slowly sitting up from my place on the stone floor, I tried to find the hole that I'd come through – but it seemed as if all trace of it disappeared, like it was never there to being with.

I frowned. "That's odd. I could have sworn…" I sigh. _No use trying to figure it out now._ _The most important thing is to get out of here before my mom calls the cops. _Looking around at the maze of stone, I realize that might not be possible.

I slump my shoulders. _This might take a while…_

After a few hours of wandering aimlessly through the tunnels, I collapse near the light-up globe. Lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling, I start to wonder if I will ever see the sky again.

I shake my head, my frizzy blonde hair flying in every direction. _I will not think emo thoughts, no matter how hopeless and useless it… not helping._

Suddenly, shadows consume the cave, leaving everything pitch black. I scream; I can't help it. The change of light is so sudden – and as quickly as the darkness came, it disappears.

During this time, I somehow ended up on the floor in a fetal position, preparing for the worst. After a few minutes of waiting, I slowly stand up and look around for changes.

Studying each nook and cranny, I don't see anything that could have made it so dark. _There are no new cracks or holes, just some dude lying on the floor uncon-… wait a minute,_ dude_!_

I run over to the person on the floor and flip him over. The first thing that I noticeis his strange light grey skin. Then there's his dark grey robe-dress thingy, not to mention his black hair, which looks like a strong gust of winter wind blew it back and froze it in place… or maybe Jack Frost threw a snowball at him.

Either way, what I want to know is: _how did he land so gracefully, and not in a mess of tangled limbs, like I did?_ _It's not _fair_, I tell you!_

Although, this man can't be _too_ lucky. I mean, he _is_ in this cave with me.

Unthreading my arms from my jacket and backpack, I fold my jacket to make a pillow for the stranger. I shiver a bit, my bare arms exposed to the cold.

Carefully lifting the man's head – so that I don't bother any injuries he might have – I slide the makeshift pillow under him and slowly lie his head back down on it. I have a bad feeling about this guy, like he could give me nightmares for the rest of my life… but I'll just have to deal with that. I don't want to be stuck here alone – I don't really want to be stuck here _at all _– and if he dies, if he leaves me here _BY MYSELF_, I think I'm going to go insane.

Waiting for this guy to wake up is like watching a pot of water that _should be _boiling – nothing happens. I've cartwheeled, sang Numa Numa, poked the wacko-wearing-dress-man… for goodness sake, I even took a Sharpie to his face and gave him a French moustache, but he still won't wake up.

I'm starting to really dislike this guy. What does it take to wake him up, an air horn? _Wait… that might just work!_

Rooting through my back pack for the desired object, I find magic markers; silver, gold, and black duct tape; meds for my ADD; enough food and water to last for a month; an iPod; and some blankets – but no air horn. _Figures._ _Why would I have an air horn?! _I was right. I really am losing it.

_Great – now what?_

I glare at Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot and proceed to nudge him with my foot. "Hey! If you're alive, wake up already!"

Almost instantly, his eyes flash open – and if I ever thought that he was normal before, this has changed my mind.

Why is he not normal, you might ask? Well, besides the flipping _grey_ _skin_ and the seventeenth century clothes, he has gold eyes… _glowing_ gold eyes.

In shock, I stumble backwards, giving the man some space. He slowly stands up – not even noticing my brown jacket he used as a pillow – and starts grumbling something about "defeated", "Sandman", "Frost", and "Bunny".

From what I've gathered, this guy got beat up by Sandman, Jack Frost, and the Easter bunny. I do believe in those legends, even if I'm supposed to be too old – but seriously, this guy got beat up by the _Easter bunny_? If so, that's kind of sad.

I laugh, loudly, which prompts Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot to finally notice me. His eyes narrow with anger, and suddenly he is walking – wait, that's not it – is he… _gliding_? How is he _GLIDING_? A shadow falls over me as I realize I've been distracted again. I look up, and Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot – let's revise his name to Mr. About-to-Beat-My-Brains-Out – is towering over me.

"Who," he whispers, "are _you_?"

I shiver, but I force myself to glare at him. Scary voice or not, it's kind of hard to take him seriously with the moustache that I drew on his face. I smile my _I'm-crazy-so-fear-me_ smile. "The name's Haley Davidson. And you?"

His frowns, clearly furious, which only makes the mustache look that much more ridiculous. "I am Pitch," he announces dramatically, his voice booming around the cave. "Pitch Black. The Nightmare King and Boogeyman."

I stare at him, trying to grasp what I just heard. "So you're the… Boogerman?"

"BOOGEYMAN."

So help me – he really is going to beat my brains out. "Boogeyman," I blurt. "Yeah – got it – sorry!"

He nods. It makes the mustache twitch.

I can't help it. I'm feeling brave again. "And you got beaten up by the Easter bunny," I say. "The fluffy rabbit that hides eggs for kids."

He scowls at me, giving me his glare-o-doom. "Leave, child – before I make your worst nightmares come to life."

I give him my best serious look – the kind of look that my mom gives me when I'm on the Internet reading fanfic instead of doing my homework. "Of course! I'll just magically fly right back through the hole I fell from, which isn't even there anymore!" I storm over to my jacket and tie it around my waist. "And you didn't even thank me for giving you my jacket." I plop to the floor with an exaggerated _thunk. _"Thank you for nothing, Boogerman."

TO BE CONTINUED

**A/N: **This is "Shadows of a Dream," Spark's nerdy writer friend – picture a fifteen-year-old with glasses, frizzy hair that resembles a tumbleweed on bad days, a fangirl's crazy smile, and fingers frantically typing: you now have a visual of me. So, now that we have that covered… I was going to be Spark's Beta, but I'm a self-proclaimed Grammar Natzi and couldn't resist adding some of my own humor, so Spark says I qualify as her assistant now. I think I deserve a badge. Her candy stash will have to do.

Please review this story, for both of us – constructive criticism is encouraged, but flames are the mark of a very bored, very nasty, very unlikable person. Summary: Don't flame. It will make your life that much happier.

Thanks for reading!


	2. In Which I Discuss Potatoes and Whales

Although the disappearing hole, my backpack's profound lack of air horns, and the murderous Easter Bunny theory could still use further explanation, I know one thing for sure: this Pitch guy is lying. There is no way he could be the Boogeyman. Maybe he's Boogeyman Junior or a Boogeyman Minion, but most definitely not the Boogeyman; there simply isn't anything scary about the man-dress. And besides, the real Boogeyman wouldn't have allowed me to draw a moustache on his face.

"Girl, are you deaf, or are you stupid?"

I turn to look at my jail buddy, Boogerman, who is yelling at me for some reason. Yet again.

I give him my best glare, and then ignore him so that I can look through my bag for something helpful – like duct tape. God's gift to humanity when people won't shut up.

Abruptly, I feel fingers dig into my hair, yanking me up like I'm weightless. White shards of light scatter across my vision as I'm tossed to the hard stone floor. I land on my hip, (quite painfully, I might add.)

After I finish muttering "ow, ow, _ow, OW!_" at least fifty times – (I'm a girl, _deal with it_) – I turn my attention to my abuser.

His yellowish eyes bore into my green eyes as he opens his hand. "You have failed to heed my warning," he says, which is probably supposed to make me freak out and beg for forgiveness, but I think it makes him sound like a clichéd Disney super-villain.

_Yes, _I think._ I failed to heed your great and almighty authority, oh master of man-dresses._

His eyes are like black holes. "So now you must suffer the consequences." He raises his arm, palm outstretched, fingers spread wide, as if he's about to make a glowing sword out of thin air like the X-Men. I'll admit, beneath the total terror racing through me and the absent thought that Mr. About-to-Beat-My-Brains-Out might be the best nickname after all, I'm curious. If this guy can get away with running around in a man-dress and having skin the color of an old potato, who knows what else he'll come up with.

I brace myself, setting my teeth, considering how I'll explain it to Jamie and Sophie if I come home without all of my limbs attached…

But nothing happens.

No fireworks, no random platters of chocolate-chip cookies, no surprise appearances from Disney super-villains. _What a letdown. _

Mr. Not-So-Much-About-to-Beat-My-Brains-Out stands in shock, his eyes widening as he repeats the inane arm-movement over and over. Still, no results. Maybe he bought his powers at the Dollar Store or something. Their toys always make Sophie bawl her eyes out.

The shadows start to move again, like when I first fell through the hole, but this time, the darkness forms the shapes of horses. _O…kay? _I think, raising my eyebrows._ Since when can shadows have horse-babies?_

The horses circle Pitch – which means that, naturally, they're also circling me. I go into _I-am-THE-babysitter_ mode as I give the lead horse my no-dessert-for-you-tonight glare. "Don't you know how rude it is to circle people? Mind your manners and sit down!"

The horse looks at me as if to say, "What are these 'manners' you speak of? Are they delicious?"

I blink. _Oh, gosh. OH, GOSH. I speak shadow horse-inese?!_ I can't even memorize the three Spanish words on my homework sheet. Go figure.

I walk up to the horse and stare directly into its creepy eyes. They're like golden slits in its black, black face, glowing menacingly. "You, mister, are coming with me."

I grab a handful of the horse's mane. It whinnies nervously, as if to say, "You _do not _touch the mane, lady!", but it lets me drag it towards my backpack.

Abruptly, I realize that all of the other horses have stopped circling Boogerman. They're watching me with flaming eyes, their bodies tensed, pawing the ground with their hooves. The horse that I'm dragging is starting to seriously fidget, which probably means that either it has to go to the bathroom or it wants to kill me. "Whoa, shadow-horsie," I mutter. "Think happy thoughts. Um… shadow-rainbows. Or a pretty shadow-unicorn. Or… something." Frantically digging through my backpack, I find what I need.

I turn back to Boogerman, grinning what I'm sure is a majorly evil grin. "_This _is how you teach a shadow-horse to behave," I say, and then I begin.

By the time I was finished with the unlucky shadow-horse, all of the other horses understood to mind their manners. I probably would, too, if my fellow shadow-horse got duct-taped to the wall, its mane braided with pink ribbons, its side reading "FREDRICK" in orange magic-marker. Yes, Fredrick. It just feels fitting, somehow. Despite the fact that I had to use him as an example, I think I kind of… like him. If he were something tamer, like a stray puppy, I would probably take him home with me.

Boogerman looks at me, his old-potato hands curled into fists. "Not bad." Then, without so much as a second glance, he walks off like an angry teenager. Not that I ever do that when Mom tells me to clean my room or anything – but _still_. I just tamed an entire herd of shadow-horses. I should get an award. The least he could do is say "thank you," but then again, I suppose that would ruin his cliché Disney super-villain status.

Oh, well. I'm alone with the shadow-horses. Somehow, I doubt that they're going to hurt me. If they try, I'm naming the next one Leroy. And he'll have _rainbow _ribbons in his mane.

Deciding that now is the best time to set up my tent and bed, I get the needed items out of my backpack and set up camp. Mr. Annoying-Teenage-Boogers comes back a little while later and decides to be social – or, at least, as social as a Disney super-villain can be. We start a game of what seems to be 20 questions, except the questions don't make any sense, he's asking all of them, and they're all insulting.

Question 1: How do I control the Nightmares (apparently that's what the horses are called)?

"Duct tape is a miracle worker," I say, grinning. _I babysit kids; nothing is harder than that._

Question 2: How did I get into his lair?

"I took a walk," I answer, "and Luck hates me so much, she enlisted her hit man, Fate, to take me out. But destiny had other plans… so I'm somehow still alive."

Question 3:Why must I be so annoying?

I smile. "Don't make me duct-tape you. Your name can be Bobo."

Question 4: Was I dropped on my head as a child?

Okay, I have officially reached my threshold for frustration. "No… were you, Booger-head? You know, that would explain why your skin is the color of an elderly whale…"

He only glares at me. I take this as a sign that it's my turn to ask him questions. Since I'm tired of standing, I drag him down to sit on the floor with me. I guess he was unprepared, because he lands on his face… (It might help that I tripped him – but nonetheless, he still landed on his face.)

"So." I look back at Boogerman, who still looks like he wants to kill me. I doubt that the hor– Nightmares, will let him do that, though. I think I'm their entertainment. I turn my attention back to whale-skin and ask, "How old are you?"

He gives me a very, _very_ cliché super-villain stare. "Older than your mother's mother, brat."

"Really? Wow, you're old!" I cringe in mock horror. "Can I call you 'old man'? Please?"

He shoots his glare-o-doom at me again. "No."

"Whatever you say…old man."

It seems I tugged his last straw because he tackles me and tries to rip my face off.

The hor– Nightmares promptly come to my defense, charging Boogerman like a gust of black wind. He lands a kick on one of them, and it disintegrates into a shower of dark sand. This seems to enrage the others, I think, seeing as one of them lunges forward and sinks its teeth into Boogerman's posterior. He makes a very un-manly noise and falls over, probably out cold.

Then he starts screaming.

_Okay… not out cold. _I run at the horses with my best this-ain't-my-first-rodeo face on, yelling at them to stop – "or else I'll use _glitter _next time, do you hear me? GLITTER! In your MANE! Just think about that for a second!"

Either they understood me or they didn't like the taste of Boogerman's butt, but either way, they stopped. Booger was thrashing in his pony-induced sleep, looking terrified of whatever he was dreaming about.

Taking pity on him, I order one of the ho– NIGHTMARES to get me some water; hopefully, if I splash Boogerman, he'll wake up. The Nightmare returns in a flash, carrying a water bottle in its mouth.

After a brief struggle with the cap, I dump the water on Boogerman's head, taking care to keep his mustache intact. It's a success on both counts. He wakes up, and he still looks French. Double win.

He bolts into a sitting position, and for a moment I'm frozen. His eyes. Eyes that used to hold such distain, now revealing the unveiled truth. He's… scared – no, terrified. And I've never seen someone look so lonely, so defeated, in my entire fifteen years of life.

He looks like he needs a friend.

I don't know why, and it's probably stupid, but I place my hand gently on his shoulder. He turns quickly, with a guarded look in his eyes.

I force myself to hold his stare, letting the loneliness in his eyes flood into me, pretending that I am him, I am alone, I am afraid… because it's the only way I can bring myself to care. "Are you ok?" I ask.

I catch a glimmer of shock in his eyes, but as quickly as it appears, it vanishes. "Leave me be, little child."

I hold out my hand; there's no reason to leave him sitting on the floor, especially when he just had horse-teeth in his butt. I'm not really articulate or anything, but I try my best to comfort him, anyway.

"I might not know what you're going through, but I'll be here for you if you need me. Nobody should have to go it alone."

He just watches me. It reminds me of the kids I babysit, and I mean the little ones. He looks like a child.

"We share the pain," I say. "You don't have to go it alone, Boog– Pitch."

His gold eyes are intense, but the fire is gone from them. Without a word, he extends his arm. Our fingers interlock, and I lift him to his feet.

He smiles. More than anything else, he suddenly looks… human. "Thank you… Haley."

**A/N: This is Shadows of a Dream, Spark's writer friend/assistant/nerd/crazy-person from the last chapter. Spark and I had a blast with this chapter, from the humor to the slightly more emotional ending. Please give us your honest opinions. I have a rule regarding reviews: Critiques are great; flames are just hate. So stick to honest advice, people. Flames will be used to burn Jack Frost, and no one wants that, right? Right? (If you do, get lost. Seriously.)**

** Okay. I think I've ranted for long enough.**

** Read. Review. And… stuff.**

** JACK FROST IS SEXY –**

** Okay. OKAY. I'm really done, this time.**

** *runs away, fangirl-laughing***


	3. Oh My Glob

You know that moment where you felt like you've been denied essential, NEED-TO-KNOW information? I'm having one of those moments.

I can't believe that Jamie went off to save the world _without telling me_ – and, more importantly, without inviting me along for the adventure.

"And that, child, is how I came to be imprisoned in my own realm. I hope you enjoyed that story, because I am never going to tell it again. Now, if you would do me the same… pleasure… and explain yourself: how did you come to be stuck in here with me?"

Despite the seriousness of the question, I have to hold back laughter. Mr. Blackie (that's my newest nickname for him) is clearly oblivious, because even after our game of "20 Demands" and Ring-Around-the-Boogeyman, he still hasn't noticed his stylish mustache. I'll tell him eventually, but I don't think he needs to know that right now. Besides, he asked me a fair question, so I guess I should give him an answer.

"Very well then, Blackie. My story starts with two young children – I have a feeling you know at least one of them, actually. Their names are Sophie and Jamie Bennett –"

Booger's eyes flash in recognition. The only way to describe his subsequent scream is that it sounded vaguely like an exploding lawnmower. "_JAMIE. BENNETT_!" He's actually shaking – I thought that people only did that in movies, but he looks like a soda can that's about to blow. "That's the human brat who befriended Frost and ruined my whole plan!"

I am suddenly weightless again; his fingers encircle my throat, squeezing tighter with every breath, making breathing become more and more of a challenge. Booger brings me up to his eye level- he is about a foot taller than me mind you- and judging by his expression, he is not thinking about rainbows and ponies.

"Where. Is. That. Brat?"

_Dear God, he really is Mr. About-To-Beat-My-Brains-Out!_

I kick my legs wildly in the air, desperately trying to get a foothold, a handhold, an anything-hold that will make him _let go of my neck_. Patches of black are fading in and out of my vision. As a last resort, I kick him in the place where no man should be kicked – yep, _that place_. I went there. I have no regrets. _Sorry, Booger, but I like my air… and you, my friend, were taking that away._

My aim was true; the kick, solid. The aftermath: He sounds like a balloon leaking air. He collapses to the floor in pain, holding his… uh… manliness. _Is he dead? I hope not. I'll have to talk to the shadow-ponies for the rest of my life…_ I nudge him; he manages a sound that reminds me of a squeaky toy. _Well, he's not dead, _I decide. And I have a new nickname for Boogers – Sir Squeaky.

"Ha! That's what you get, Sir Squeaky, for messing with Haley the Nightmare Tamer, Master of the Groin Kick! But back to the story – Sophie and Jamie Bennett were oh-so-worried about their beloved babysitter, and told her she should go outside for a walk, so the babysitter – who, in case you didn't figure it out yet, my dear Booger, is me – took a walk in the woods. And then… Oh! Hold on a second."

Leaving the slowly recovering Sir Squeaky behind, I run over to get my flashlight; it makes everything scarier and much more dramatic. Finding my old-fashioned black flashlight, I return to continue my story.

Plopping on my makeshift chair/story-telling mat (aka. my sleeping bag), I flip the switch that gives light.

"Where was I – oh, yes! The Babysitter – that's me, in case you forgot, seeing as you're currently distracted by your man-pain – well, I decided to venture into the deep, dark woods, which are rumored to make unlucky girls disappear, never to return… _ooOOOOOOOO_!" I wave my flashlight under my face for added effect, but sadly, Boogerman has recovered enough to be unimpressed by my amazing theater effects, if the rolling of his eyes is anything to go by.

"Do you think that will scare me, the Nightmare King? If so, then you are more foolish than I thought, brat."

I shake my head and stick my tongue out at him. _I may be foolish, but at least I don't sound like I'm on helium._

"Now, before I was so rudely interrupted by SOMEONE WHOSE NAME STARTS WITH BOOGER… the girl went into the woods, found a clearing with a broken bedframe, realized belatedly that said bedframe covered a hole in the ground, and proceeded to fall into said hole in the ground. The hole, which magically disappeared, led to the horribly decorated home of the aforementioned SOMEONE WHOSE NAME STARTS WITH BOOGER, who wears dresses in public. I hope you enjoyed today's 'Story time with Haley'… because Haley dislikes listeners who interrupt. Especially when their names start with BOOGER."

By the time I said man-dresses, Booger looked ready to go for round two of "Tackle the Babysitter", but I guess the idea of having an even sorer bottom – or even worse, another groin kick – was not on his agenda.

"This is not a dress. It is a robe. A _roooooobbbbeeee,_" he says, drawing out the word for effect.

Well, then – it looks like Booger is trying to defend his nonexistent pride. Unfortunately, I can hear the horses snickering behind me. My internal _shadow-horse-inese _translator informs me that they're saying, "Of course it's not a dress…" and laughing dementedly.

The shadow-horses are on my side. In your face, Blackie.

_Speaking of Blackie – I should probably pick up that water bottle I used to wake up him up._

I stand up to retrieve the empty plastic bottle I left on the floor, leaving Pitch as a sputtering, prideful mess. Why did I leave him, might you ask? Because I want to recycle the water bottle, be green, save the world. My parents taught me well, contrary to popular belief. A certain someone whose name starts with BOOGER thinks I was dropped on my head as a child.

I kneel down on the cold gray floor, water bottle in hand – and that's when I notice the label. _Hey! This isn't the type of water bottle in my backpack… Where did Fredrick get that water bottle? The only place he could get this is… _My eyes bug out of my head; at least, they must be, because they feel like they're going to pop out of my face. _He must have reached a store… which means that HE HAS A WAY OUT OF HERE._

_ HE HAS A STINKING WAY OUT OF HERE._

_ OH._

_ MY._

_ GLOB._

Annoyance and anger boil beneath my skin, and I start trembling like a time bomb. "_Fredrick_! Where in Hades are you?!"

My trusty steed appears besides me in a flurry of dark sand, whinnying nervously from my call, probably thinking something along the lines of, "Please don't braid rainbow ribbon in my mane."

I give Fredrick my best glare-o-doom, which I have successfully learned from Sir Squeaky. "Why didn't you tell me that you can – oh, I don't know – _**LEAVE**_?" Tapping my foot impatiently, (I've never been a patient person,) I wait for Fredrick's answer.

Suddenly, a pressure on my shoulder reminds me that I might not be the only one who did not know this very important piece of information.

"Yes, _Fredrick_," Boogerman says. He's crawling towards me, teeth clenched, making a sound like an injured ferret. "Why didn't … nor the child… know that you, along with the rest of your… kind, can… _leave_?"

At this point, Fredrick looks ready to make a mad dash to the nearest shadow. In fact, he looks ready to hide there for the next fifty years.

I blink, and at some point during the blink, Fredrick bolts. Another shadow-horse guards his retreat, but alas, said shadow-horse is promptly wrestled by Ferret-Man (yes, I went there). Despite his defeat, the shadow-horse holds his head high, as if to say, "I served my fellow horses with honor, and with honor, I will die."

Pitch promptly disintegrates the shadow-horse with a snap of his fingers, and then proceeds to form reins out of the resulting dust. He passes the reins to me; they feel cold in my hands, and impossibly light, as if they aren't really here.

"You are the first human who has not run away screaming with terror," Ferret-Man squeaks. "And for that, I grant your wish to leave."

I look at the reins in my hand before meeting his eyes. "You _do_ realize I'm going to come back and visit, right?"

He smirks, his gold eyes sparkling with… _humor_?

"I would have it no other way, child."

This would a profound moment, if only his voice didn't sound like Elmo.

Still, I can't help the flash of joy that spreads across my face. I'm free. I'M FREE.

OH.

MY.

GLOB.

"Onward, my steed… to the surface!"

And we're off, the wind blowing my hair behind me. Shadows surround and enfold me, we race upwards towards the ceiling, there's a splitting pain in my head… and I fall into darkness.

* * *

I awaken to the sound of horse laughter, accompanied by the smug, moustache-less face of Probably-No-Longer-A-Ferret-Man.

"What…happened?" I mumble. I mentally add, _And where is your mustache? _I sit up slowly, but the dizziness is still powerful enough that I almost pass out.

He looks down at me and says in a soft, certain voice, "You can't leave; you are stuck here, just as I am. When the Guardians locked me in, they took away any chance of _anyone_ getting out of here for at least ten years."

My eyes widen. He rammed my skull into the ceiling _on purpose, _but now I have a bigger problem. _Stuck… for… ten… years… _In ten years, my mom could get married; Jamie could get a girlfriend; Sophie would be about my age now; I would be _twenty-five_ when I got out of here, if I ever escaped at all.

My vision blurs asI feel tears trickle down my face. "My mom will think I'm dead. She… she won't be able to handle that, not… not with what _happened_…" My voice cracks; I'm sobbing now, full-blown sobbing, but I'm breaking down now and I just don't care.

I hear the ruffling of fabric, followed shortly by the Pitch's hand as he abruptly lifts my chin; he wipes away my tears, his thumb pressing against my cheek. "You shouldn't cry; it doesn't work with your… special personality." His voice was gruff, but I could hear a faint, comforting undertone – the whisper of what might have once been a nice guy.

I look up at him, my vision still interrupted by blotches of color, before shoving my body into his suddenly stiff form. I wrap my arms around his body, my fingers digging into the back of his clothes, like it's my lifeline. And maybe it is. I can't think through the tears.

"I'm scared," I whisper, but I'm not sure if I'm talking to him, or the shadow-horses, or myself. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

Slowly, he relaxes, wrapping his arms around my still-shaking figure. "You don't have to be afraid of being alone… your nightmares will never leave you." I shiver at that truth, conflicted sensations of comfort and fear coursing through my veins. Maybe he means to help me, but the words make me shake harder. "You don't need to be afraid of the Nightmares, either. I've never seen anyone else tame them. Maybe they… like you." His nose wrinkles at the thought, as if he's smelled something particularly unpleasant.

My grip on him eases as I start to calm down. A random thought enters my mind, and as curiosity gets the better of me, I ask, "When was the last time someone hugged you?"

His voice comes out in a low whisper. "A very, very long time ago…"

And maybe it's insensitive, but I have to ask. I bring my head up to look at him. "Who was it?"

He flinches, "My…my daughter." His eyes shut, and I recognize the look on his face. He's not hiding from me; he's hiding from himself.

I let go of him, giving him some space to breathe. "From what I can tell, you were an amazing dad... assuming that you didn't run her into ceilings, of course. I'm sure that she loved you."

He opens his gold eyes and looks down at me. "She did." He stands up suddenly, walking off towards a dark tunnel, and at the entrance he turns back to look at me. "No more crying; understand, Haley?"

I nod my head, a loopy grin finds its way to my lips. "Whatever you say, Blackie."

He smirks. "Good." And he walks into the shadows.


	4. A meeting with the author :AN

You see a giant finger tapping your computer screen rather hashly, leaving fingerprints on the once relatively clean screen, before you hear a rather throaty voice mumble.

"Hello? Is this thing on?"

The finger is removed from the screen to reveal a rather strange looking girl' with unusual blue – gray eyes obscured by black glasses.

"Helloooooooo? ...eh whatever, I start explaining myself."

She looks at you with a frown before continuing.

"Hi, it's me, Spark, sorry I haven't been posting any stories/ new chapters on fanfic as of late, but I've been writing a novel that must be completed by the end of the year. It's a low – fantasy encase you were wondering, but because of that, Fanfiction will have to be on the back burner for now... sorry to disappoint you."

The girl, now known as Spark, reaches for the screen when her eyes widen and she pulls back her hand, which was the only warning you got before a flurry of wild hand gestures invade your vision.

"That doesn't mean I'm abandoning the story or anything! Oh no! Not at all! It just means I won't be on fanfiction for awhile, but don't worry I will be back. Bye for Now!"

She clicks a button and the screen flashes black, shortly followed by a box that says 'Type your review for this chapter here'... Maybe, just maybe, she wants to hear your thoughts about the matter at hand...


End file.
